Spectacle
by tamagopants
Summary: [IsaLea][Twoshot] Two bridges in London; a sky full of stars.
1. Waterloo Bridge - Lea

**SPECTACLE **

**Part I**

**Waterloo Bridge; Lea**

* * *

Lea staggers out of the Red Lion, and the world is in a prosecco-induced spin. He's not quite..._pissed_, per se, but he's not convincing anyone he's sober either. There's heavy traffic along the Strand where taxis are trying to turn in to Charing Cross Station, and Lea stumbles through the glaring headlights and blinking indicators towards the billboards.

"Oh no," he murmurs, as orange letters and numbers swim in front of him. He squeezes his eyes shut and reopens them. "Aw, shit."

He wobbles and reacts a little too late to tired Londoners pushing past to the barriers. He catches the rancid smell of overdone pasties and with three uneven steps backwards, he grabs a shoulder.

"Mate, do me a huge favour. What's...what's the next train to Belvedere?" Lea realises he's doing more than holding the shoulder; he's hanging onto it for dear life. He's staggering as much as he's slurring.

"Erm...can't you read?"

"Yeah, course I can. I just...I forgot my specs."

"Some specs. It seems forgetting them makes you reek of alcohol as well. The last train to Belvedere leaves in two minutes, so you better move quick."

"Nah, fuck it." Lea slides off the warm sleeve and grapples an unsteady board advising of engineering works. "I'm getting a kebab. I'm gonna eat a kebab and then I'm gonna skewer Marly fucking Gardiner with it after." His senses are completely addled but he smells orange blossom, something faintly sweet and enticing. "Do you wanna come with?"

"Uh, I really don't think so."

The board shudders, and Lea realises it's on wheels. He tries to stay standing, but his body understands such necessity far too late. With a loud groan, the board skids out of reach and he trips towards the nearest seat. His hands seize the black metal rim and he slumps onto it. Well, he tries to. Before he knows what's happening, he's yanked aside and he collapses. Now all he can see is the stark stone stretch of the concourse.

"I'm fine." Lea bats away a set of hands, even though he's cringing from the pain shooting up his arse. "I'm totally fine."

"You do know you just tried to sit in a rubbish bin."

Lea groans, and sure enough, when he forces his eyes to adjust, it's an iron litter bin towering over him. He follows the hand loosely holding his elbow, to rolled up sleeves of a periwinkle shirt, to a curtain of blue hair. There's a cream lanyard dangling from his neck, a pair of teal glasses squaring a stare.

It's difficult to tell if the stranger has a natural poker face, or if Lea is simply too drunk to read expressions. "Holy _shit_," he manages, "you're beautiful. Your skin is flawless; do you know that?"

The stranger smiles. He might even have laughed, but it's lost in the booming tannoy of station announcements. "That's your beer goggles."

Lea doesn't think so. Hell, he _knows_ so. He can't possibly create a figure so full of elegant complexities, so the stranger has to be very real. Heavy eyelids, pointed chin, a trio of tiny moles on the side of his neck - Lea finds himself inching forwards to study more, to discover more.

"Come on, up you get. I'll take you to the taxi rank."

"No," Lea protests. He throws his weight back. "We've only just met. Wh-what's your name? Let me buy you a drink."

"I think you've had enough to drink, don't you?"

Lea ignores him. He throws every ounce of what concentration he has left into a single task: to read the plastic badge that swings off the lanyard. "P...Pe..."

"Okay, I'm just going to leave you."

Lea seizes his elbow. "I've got it! It's Peri, your name's Peri...!"

"I'll find a station attendant and they'll look after you, all right?" Peri pulls his arm away.

"No, wait! I promise I'm not a pisshead. I just...I overdid it tonight but if you knew the whole story, you'd understand...! Please, don't go. Don't make Marly ruin this for me too." He grabs fabric. "Peri, please, don't let him."

"Oh for God's sake," snaps Peri, but he's smiling. "My name's Isa, okay?"

"Isa?"

"Yes, Isa. Perigee is my _company's_ name. See?" He lifts the lanyard and Lea closes his fingers round it. "Let's find you a taxi. Can you stand?"

"Wait, wait." His hand slips, from the lanyard to the material at Isa's collar. He knows he has mere seconds left before he passes out. "I'm Lea," he manages, and he garbles a protest, a plea not to be bundled into a taxi to never see Isa again. "Wait...don't go..."

**-x-**

At first, Lea is convinced he's upside down. When he opens his eyes, he sees far off buildings suspended from the sky of a cracked pavement. He grunts a little, acknowledging a sharp pain at his throat. As he regains feeling in his body, he realises he's sprawled out in a camper's chair and tilted back towards the night. His head throbs with the after effects of so much alcohol.

Lea watches the blinking light of a plane, a tiny red dot trying to emulate the stars behind.

"You all right there?"

Lea starts. He drops his gaze from the scattered sky to three feet in front of him. Two tripods stand side by side, facing out; one cradles a camera, the other a strange contraption Lea can't quite remember the name of. Tucked behind them, sat on the concrete base of white railings, is Isa.

Lea gives a shaky laugh of relief and tries to tidy his hair without making it too obvious. He's sobered up, which means hours must have passed. "You didn't leave."

"You made it pretty clear you didn't want me to. I'm pulling an all-nighter anyway so I don't mind the company." Isa gestures to the tripods, as if it should mean something. "It's Lea, isn't it? How much do you remember?"

"...The station," Lea mutters. "That's about it." He winces at the memory of blinding strip lights and spinning billboards. "I think you tried to take me to a taxi?"

"Yeah, that didn't work out." Isa smiles from behind a granola bar. "You wouldn't get in and after you puked on a wheel, the taxi driver refused to take you anywhere. We walked here," he finishes. "We're on Waterloo Bridge."

Lea groans and drops his head into his hands. "Man, I'm so sorry. You obviously had plans of your own and I've gone and wrecked them. Look, I've even nicked your chair."

"It's fine, don't worry. You've been a pretty good laugh." Isa points to a cooler bag between the tripods. "If you're hungry or thirsty, by the way, just help yourself."

Lea knows he shouldn't inconvenience Isa any further, but his stomach growls in protest. "Thanks." He drags the chair towards the tripods and reaches for a plastic bottle. It's clear Isa only ever packed enough food for one person; Lea makes sure he has very little of it. "So..." he begins, and he suppresses a happy groan at the wonderful taste of cold water. "Was it always your plan to go camping on Waterloo Bridge tonight?"

"Not quite." Isa rests his elbows on his knees and wets his lips. "Everyone else went to Primrose Hill."

"Your mates?"

"Eh..." Isa shrugs and ducks a fraction behind the camera's tripod. "Couple of colleagues and some new people who had their stands set up near ours. I work for an imaging company, and astronomy conventions are a massive marketing platform."

"Why didn't you go to Primrose Hill with the others?"

"...Didn't fancy it. I thought I'd catch the sunrise here instead." Isa stands up and busies himself with adjusting the camera.

"Telescope, that was it," Lea recalls abruptly, earning a thin smile from Isa. "That's really been bugging me."

He glances at the navy tube that points across the Thames. The view, he admits, is pretty remarkable. For all his years spent living in London, he's never really stopped to acknowledge the beauty of the city, from the bright blue web of the Eye reflected in the water to the proud spotlights beaming up at Big Ben and Westminster. Behind him, the dome of St Paul's cuts into the dark like a gibbous moon and the Shard pierces into the stars.

He wants to believe that Isa sacrificed Primrose Hill for such a view, but the pieces won't add up to such a theory. Waterloo Bridge has far too much light pollution for the telescope to have any good use, and Isa has barely looked across the water. Moreover, he seems to have a problem looking anywhere but at his equipment. Lea distinctly remembers how easily Isa was able to talk and look at him before; now, without the happy spark of alcohol, Isa's behaviour seems stinted, nervous.

He gets out the chair and leans on the railings. "Well, Primrose Hill is nice if you're only going to be looking up. I doubt you're missing out on much," he reassures.

Isa gives a wary smile and adjusts his glasses. "You know that feeling when you're in a group simply by association? Like, you're tagging along and you know you're out of place there, and everyone else knows it too, but no one says anything?" He concentrates on unscrewing his flask of tea. "I don't really mix in groups. Maybe you don't get into situations like that - you seem pretty outgoing."

"I'm all right in crowds," he admits. "I feel safer in them. I get it's not everyone's thing, though."

Lea catches his gaze this time, of green eyes half obscured by the frame of his glasses. Isa clears his throat and mutters something about getting tea, and as he ducks his head, his glasses slide a fraction down his nose; the orange lamplight shines just right for Lea to see what Isa has been hiding all along.

"Hey," he murmurs, but words fail him and he touches the bridge of his own nose instead.

Isa cringes, and Lea's stomach turns at his audacity to have drawn attention to it. Isa has a very visible scar on his face, a perfect cross etched between his eyes. His glasses hide the crux of it, and Lea is quite certain this is not a coincidence. The eyewear, the long hair, the rare bursts of eye contact - Isa is embarrassed, ashamed, and it would not be a stretch to think he has been hoping Lea wouldn't notice.

"Oh... just ignore it," he mutters, "if you can."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable-"

"No, it's fine, really. It's a thing of the past; he's gone now and I'm okay with it. Let's move on. Please."

Lea wishes he could just change topic for Isa's benefit, but his head snaps up at a particular word. "He? Someone did that to you?"

"What else do you think would have?"

_Of course_, Lea thinks to himself. Only a person can be that precise, that cruel. And because his mind insists on these thoughts - and his expression betrays this - the next time Isa looks at him, he might be angry more than hurt.

"Look, just forget it. I've already said too much about myself, and all to some…some stranger."

To Lea's relief, Isa isn't pushing him away; rather, like a card game with a tailored deck of admittances, he is signalling for Lea to raise the stakes or at least, call.

"I was at these promotion drinks this evening," he says finally. Isa frowns a little. "This guy called Marly beat me to team leader and we went out to celebrate. Everyone was hoping for a reaction, you know. Marly and I have hated each other for years, and they thought this would be the final straw. I didn't, though. I turned up like a good sport, I congratulated Marly, and then I got totally plastered so I wouldn't hear what everyone was saying about me."

Isa tugs him away from the telescope. "You do know that makes you the bigger person." His gaze is steadier now. The scar doesn't detract from his appearance; however, in the wake of his touch, Lea can't form the right words to say this. His hand rests on Lea's forearm. Lea would pull Isa into his arms in an instant, but he thinks there's something off about Isa's body language.

"Yeah, I know. Fecking annoying though," he adds. "I mean, it wasn't even about me getting one up on Marly. Part of that new job makes you manager to the junior staff. I was trying to save Roxas and Xion from that, but I screwed up. Now they have Marly on their backs."

"Is he a shit then?"

Lea tests Isa a little, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Almost immediately, Isa looks at the contact, makes a note of it. He seems hyper-aware of the space around him.

"Calling Marly a shit is a bit of an understatement," replies Lea. "He's vile. Marly's like... well, you know when loads of crap happens to you and you wonder why it isn't happening to someone who actually deserves it? It's kinda like that. Marly's this slimy, douche of a bully, who always seems to get rewarded for it, who always has people fawning over him. You know how he does that? How he wins people?"

"He just opens his mouth and talks," replies Isa, with a dead expression that will eventually haunt Lea for months. "There's a lot of people like that."

**-x-**

Isa claims back the camper's chair, while Lea spends the next hour or so venting about the politics of his workplace. Isa is a difficult audience, though. Lea tries his hand at jokes, mostly at Marly's expense, but the most Isa does is give a polite and forced smile.

Everything about him is so controlled, Lea realises. It's as though he plans his actions minutes in advance, following some kind of protocol. Even when talking about his imaging company's contributions to astronomy - his main interest, Lea assumes - there's very little heart to it.

Minutes before sunrise, Lea helps him pack away the telescope. Isa sets up the camera so that it will take a series of photos over time. "It's called time lapse," he says. His fingers trace the camera and as he bends, Lea pays a little too much attention to the sliver of bare skin at his waist.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, to which Isa nods. "I don't suppose scruffy, pissed redheads are your type?"

Isa's hand shoots to his head to tuck some loose strands behind his ear. It's the first spontaneous action Lea has seen from him. "They might be."

"'Cause, you know...I was hoping I could take you out for a coffee sometime."

They both clear their throats at the same time. Isa cracks a smile. "Hey, you don't want to miss this." He gestures to the Thames and rests his arms on the railings. The horizon is just starting to glow pink, and Lea can't work out if Isa's face is reflecting this, or if that's colour in his cheeks. It's only when Lea stands next to him that Isa replies, safe in the distraction of the glittering river, "Coffee would be great."

"Yeah?"

"Yes please." Isa tilts his head a fraction, sneaking a quick look at him before turning back to the sunrise. The light captures the sharp contours of his face just right, such that it takes every ounce of Lea's strength to not kiss him there and then. "But I have one condition, if that's okay?"

"Of course!" Lea says, a little too readily. "Let me guess, it has to be a proper coffee shop?"

"Well, yes," Isa replies, around a smile, "but my main condition is that we don't go to North London. Specifically, Camden. There's someone I want to avoid."

"Seems reasonable." Lea nods for emphasis. "Crazy ex?"

Isa favours him with a tight smile. "Crazy husband."


	2. Tower Bridge - Isa

**SPECTACLE**

**Part II**

**Tower Bridge; Isa**

* * *

Excluding the strategic evasions, there's only one lie Isa told Lea - when he said, _He's gone now_.

Three of Xemnas' shirts are still in the wardrobe; his memo pad is stuck to the fridge. The bookcases that span nearly two thirds of the living room are filled with stories and tales that came by his recommendation. The wallpaper, the light fittings, the cabinet display of oriental fans, the scalloped ivy curtains - Isa is buried beneath his iron choices.

Xemnas isn't even in Camden. If Isa has his dates right, Xemnas is in Copenhagen this week, but that doesn't mean it's an invitation. Camden is like barbed wire, a long line of little memories, little nicks to the skin that draw blood when you could have sworn it felt like a kiss. It was always Camden's lively streets, for the inside jokes, the midnight strolls and dances, the twist of Isa's arm up his back.

The thing is, Xemnas will never be gone. Not really.

Isa has a herb garden now. It's one tiny change to the house, the first sprig of Isa's ventures to rediscover himself. He made the garden from an old wooden pallet he found in the garage, and it takes the spot where the barbecue used to be. He documents the progress in a reporter's notebook. It's physical proof of his wellbeing, that surely if he can cultivate something like this, he's doing okay.

Isa spends the weekend creating his time lapse video of the sunrise he saw with Lea, but it hardly interests him. It's also two lies he told, actually, because Isa never had any intention of staying out in London that night; he had only done so for the simple reason that Lea had asked him to. (Isa keeps thinking back to that moment, when he fought down the hot bubbles behind his ribs, when his toes curled in his shoes, when Lea called him beautiful, when Isa realised he was liked.)

Lea texts him all weekend, and his messages are lengthy and colourful. He doesn't know the difference between you're and your, signs off every text with a smiley face and writes without reservation.

_Got Roxas round mine this afternoon. We're watching this movie Xion rented out but she wants us to watch it first so we can warn her when the scary stuff happens. I'm not too good with them myself really - how about you?_

Isa, by comparison, doesn't really have much to talk about, especially when he's also trying to save face. Seven long years of marriage have taught him he has much to be embarrassed and ashamed of, and so Isa stays on guard, no matter how many openings Lea gives.

_I'm all right with scary movies, I guess._

_You doing anything nice today?_

_No, just housework, I guess._

Isa knows how he sounds, but honesty has always come at a price for him. He's afraid to give away parts of himself - they have a track record of coming back bruised. He wonders if Lea has already figured this out, for the lack of contribution on Isa's part barely fazes him.

_I'm sorry things didn't work out for you, btw. Always a shame when things meant to last don't._ That's all Lea has written of Isa and Xemnas' pending divorce. Lea hasn't fished for information, and when Isa realises the courtesy has been consistent, he decides to risk it.

He mulls over his second glass of lemonade and watches a bumblebee. _I'm not doing housework. Actually, I'm in my garden. He sends an additional text with sweating fingers. Just looking after my herb garden and then I'll probably read a book._

Minutes later, Lea writes back, _Show me?_

_What?_

_You're herb garden!_

Isa looks up from his phone. The sun is positioned just right to liven up the garden and in that vulnerable second, he feels so proud of his work; before his self-preservation catches up, he snaps a photo and sends it. Almost immediately afterwards, Isa starts to panic. Why hasn't Lea written back? Is he laughing? Maybe he's showing it to Roxas right this second and they're both making fun of him.

Chewing his lip, Isa drafts a frantic text to justify the garden. He won't mention the barbecue, but he can at least explain how he had to change the landscape, to burn out history.

Just as he is about to hit send, the conversation updates with Lea's own photo. Isa bites hard on his lower lip as his phone downloads a shaky snapshot, of a kitchen windowsill and lined up on it, three little pots of thyme, dill and parsley.

_Snap! :)_

_Tho shiiiit, you're herb garden is a proper one,_ Lea carries on. _Mine are only from the supermarket but they're still alive which is a huge accomplishment. Yours must of taken ages. Roxas says your garden looks nice. Loads of space, bet it's great for BBQ season._

_Depends if you like barbecues or not._

**-x-**

Tuesday evening cannot come quick enough. The texts are fun and entertaining (it certainly keeps Isa's colleagues baffled by his sudden happiness), but Isa is beginning to forget crucial parts of Lea. He knows Lea is criminally good looking - he could stagger down a catwalk screaming obscenities about this Marly whoever, and he'd still look perfect - but the details are missing. The exact shade of Lea's eyes, the shape of his nose, that indescribable feeling whenever Lea grinned at him.

When Tuesday finally does roll round, Isa stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and purses his lips. His hair needs a trim and his scar is as prominent as ever, but the summer's brought colour to his cheeks and he's put on his best shirt. He doesn't look too bad, he decides. He slots on his plastic glasses, shakes his hair loose from behind his ears and sets off to work.

_Good morning,_ he texts Lea. _Still on for coffee?_

_Yeah definitely. Can I call you pls?_

Isa is currently squashed in a rush hour train with some great views of sweaty shirts and morning headlines, but this discomfort is nothing compared to the panic in Lea's voice.

"Isa, I'm freaking out," he says. "I'm completely freaking out."

"What? Why?"

"Because of the coffee! I can't afford to screw it up, Isa. Is coffee okay? I mean, we've been texting, like, loads, so I was thinking should I take you out to dinner instead? Coffee's too cheap, isn't it, all things considered? But then if you only want to be friends, dinner's going to be a bit strange-"

"Lea-"

"-and that's the other thing. Are we friends? Because I'm crazy about you, and I talked about you all weekend to the point Roxas now won't answer my calls. You know I had him help me write my texts? He checked them and everything to make sure I wasn't fucking up, I was _that_ nervous-"

Isa stops trying to interrupt and takes a second to mentally admonish Roxas' equally bad grammar.

"-is pretty weird behaviour, which I promise I'll stop if we're just mates. Which I'm also cool with, by the way. You're in the middle of a divorce and it might be too soon for you, so I wanted you to know I'm okay with that. B-but if you're ready, I mean looking-"

"_Lea_!"

"-then I'd love the chance. I want to know more about you but I don't want to be a creep about it, which is what I'll inevitably end up doing I'm sure-"

"Ugh, LEA!"

Lea stops right away. "Sorry."

"Sorry," Isa says, to both Lea and the cluster of passengers tutting over their newspapers. "Calm down, okay? You're not going to screw this up. It's virtually impossible for you to screw it up."

"Nah, it's possible all right," Lea replies mulishly. "I made a drunken prat out of myself on Friday for example-"

"Yes and I still gave you my number," cuts in Isa, sending Lea into silence. "Listen, um..." He turns a little to try and shield his conversation from fellow commuters. "I wasn't looking as such - to be honest I'm having a bit of a break and enjoying it - but I'm erm...I'm interested."

"You are? You're definitely interested?"

"Yes." Isa laughs, and Lea gives a big sigh.

"Oh man, I bet you think I'm a right worrier now."

Isa smiles and staggers a little as the train grinds to a halt at the next station. "It's fine; it makes a change actually. So, Tower Bridge at seven?"

"I'll be there," says Lea. There's an break in conversation in which it sounds like he's having a garbled, split-second argument with himself, before he adds, "Do I hug you when we meet? Or shake hands? Or do nothing? Sorry, I wasn't joking when I said I was freaking out."

"I'm freaking out too, if it's any consolation," Isa replies. "Why don't we just shake hands?"

"Shake hands," Lea repeats firmly. "Tower Bridge, seven o'clock, shake hands. Got it."

**-x-**

Three months ago, Xemnas and Isa's enmity reached its peak and culminated in a vicious row at night, and the suggestion of divorce in the morning. Xemnas had invited his friends to a barbecue, but he wasn't doing it to socialise. It was a special kind of punishment, because Isa had never hosted a barbecue and consequently knew nothing of its workings. Xemnas just pointed Isa to their car, where the steel trolley was boxed in the boot, and said, "Dinner for 7pm sharp."

Isa's train of thought had always been the same in situations like this. He thought that if he got this one right, then everything would be okay afterwards and things would go back the way they were. He worked hard, from researching a barbecue's setup to deciding what food to serve; he bought charcoal and lighter fluid and was undoubtedly pleased when he got the grill to gently smoke. He cut the vegetables to size, put evenly shaped patties over the heat, set up the outdoor table and lined up the condiments, and at seven o'clock, he waited with fingers twisting in his apron.

Xemnas, however, was doing the laces to his shoes. His friends were gathered in the living room, carrier bags straining from the weight of six packs. The French doors were open and Isa was in plain sight, a spectacle for entertainment.

"Isa's hosting a barbecue for his friends," said Xemnas. "Do you guys want to join as well or shall we stick to the plan?"

Everyone knew Isa had no friends, but no one said anything. They too, were at the mercy of Xemnas, lest he remind them as well of their place. After their silence of feigned ignorance, Xigbar gave a thin smile and said, "Let's go out." He nodded at Isa. "Looks stone cold, mate."

**-x-**

"Do you know why I can't find you?" Lea shouts at him down the phone. "I've only been waiting on the _wrong_ side of the fucking bridge! Jesus fuck, can I be any more stupid? Don't move, okay? I'm crossing the bridge right now and I'll be there in five."

Isa watches small boats bobbing down the Thames. He concentrates on the calm waves they leave behind and tries to pretend he isn't a bag of nerves. Isa hasn't doubted for a minute, waiting until gone half seven, that Lea has stood him up, but that half hour has, admittedly, been wasted on thoughts of Xemnas. Isa is determined not to let Xemnas take precedent over their coffee, either as a subject or a bar of measurement.

_He's gone now,_ Isa thinks to himself. _Any importance he ever had is well and truly gone._

Isa didn't come back indoors that night of the barbecue for one, not until Xemnas returned. Instead, he sat at the table he had set up and watched the fire die with the sunset. It was like watching himself, seeing his very essence smoked out and extinguished by a hot force he couldn't fight back. The food went cold, the mosquitoes began to gather, and as the hours ticked by in the wake of his unhappiness, the more sense it made for Isa to reach for the collection of skewers and salvage the charred remains of himself.

"Hey, Isa!" Lea cuts through the crowd and inadvertently spoils a couple's photo at Tower Bridge. "Hey, I'm so sorry I'm late. The first thing you need to know about me is that I'm a fucking idiot." He drops his hands to his knees and tries to catch his breath. "God, I'm so glad to see you; come here!"

Isa throws his reservations aside and does so. "I'm glad to see you too." Hugging Lea is like leaping into the sea in summer. He's warm, and safe, and it's an experience he doesn't reckon will tarnish over time.

"I was meant to be standing there all cool and that when you arrived, not panting and sweating like a pig," Lea says.

It's true - Lea's chest heaves with deep breaths and the back of his shirt is slightly damp - but Isa can only hold him tighter. It's been months since he has done something like this, and even longer since he has felt deserving of it.

"Hey, you okay?" says Lea. "Because you're doing the barnacle style hug - which is typically what people do when they're upset - but I can feel you laughing."

"I'm okay," Isa replies. His chin rests comfortably in the crook of Lea's neck and he smells a pleasant mix of birch and jasmine. "I just think we've got a pretty strange idea of shaking hands, that's all."

Lea pulls back and grins down at him. "True." His fingers draw lines down Isa's forearms. "I uh...I don't suppose you'd be interested in my strange idea of holding hands?"

There is a second - Isa reckons it's just before Lea cups the curve of his jaw - when he doubts what he is going to feel. He remembers handprints emerging on his arms, the loneliness of three days spent with gauze criss-crossed over his eyes; however, Isa can't recall how it hurt when Xemnas actually pinned him to the ground (surely it must have been agonising, to have had a skewer carving into his skin). The only memory intact is that of the minute after, when Xemnas pushed his lips against Isa's forehead and apologised for what he had done. That was what had hurt, and when Isa unwrapped the bandage from his head, he expected a mark of it, a red and blue ache, a bruise of filthy affection.

Isa braves it. "We can hold hands, if you like."

"I've wanted to hold hands the minute we met," Lea admits. He ducks down and kisses him, and as Isa suspected, it does hurt, in its own way. Lea is eager and this fervour, for all of Isa's unfamiliarity with it, hurts; so does the way his heart pounds against his ribs and his hands clench Lea's shirt. But the worst moment of all, that subjects Isa to the ache of being so, _so_ happy, is the moment Lea draws back and pushes his glasses up to the top of his head.

"Nice spectacles," he murmurs, between kisses, "but I think you look even better without."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading! Any comments or feedback are greatly appreciated._


End file.
